New Sun Rising
Cybertron, Polyhex City-state, Sector Omicron-147
Cybertronian Date: 999867.92 - 8331 - 2460 (Solar pre-zenith)
Earth date: 19 October 2070, 18:01 HOURS
Cyclonus sat alone in one of Polyhex's dilapidated and grimy bars nursing a cylinder of the cheapest low-grade energon the place had to offer. The tarnished, rust-spotted surface of the table in front of him was littered with spent cylinders, the oldest neatly stacked and the more recent additions scattered haphazardly across the surface. The bar's civilian clients avoided the dark booth in which he sat, and even the few off-duty Decepticons hogging the bar were avoiding eye-contact with him. Not that Cyclonus minded, really: he wanted to be left alone to stew in his own misery! The only comments his fellow Decepticons made about him just recently were accusations. They blamed him for every lunatic scheme Mega Galvatron sacrificed their comrades to. Blamed him for not just accepting Shockwave as high commander. Shockwave for Primus' sake! They were even willing to follow orders from that walking computer if it meant an end to Mega Galvatron. There were more frequent mutterings every solar period longing for Shockwave, or even Scorponok, to come and free the Decepticons from the Supreme Overlord's madness. They blamed Cyclonus for it all. He and Scourge…
Ah, yes, Scourge. Well, he wouldn't be worrying about the Decepticons blaming him. Not any more! Even after almost two kilobreems - nearly half an orn - Cyclonus still hadn't come to terms with his fellow Unicronian's death. A pointless, worthless death! Never in his worst nightmares had he imagined that Mega Galvatron would kill him or Scourge. They had been loyal lieutenants. They hadn't bowed to the usurper Shockwave like so many others had! They had found the rightful leader of the Decepticons, Galvatron, and his alternate self Megatron. Had done their best to knit the mangled amalgam into a functional mechanoid able to retake the high command. He was supposed to have been the ultimate Decepticon leader: a being forged for the express purpose of leading the Empire to final victory! He laughed bitterly at that thought, drawing nervous glances from his fellow drinkers. He turned to them with bleary energon-dulled optics, raising his half-empty cylinder in salute before tossing its contents into the back of his throat. To Scourge! he thought bitterly. I hope to be close on your heels to the Pit! Has to be better than where I am now! Scourge had got off easy. His death had allowed him to avoid the surreptitious glances and whisperings of the other Decepticons that followed Cyclonus wherever he went. He couldn't even sit in the main recreation bays of Darkmount without sensing at least one pair of optics burning scornfully into his back!
He raised his horned head heavily and glanced over to the bar. "Anuzha drink!" he slurred, struggling to form words with his impaired vocoder. "I wannanuzha drink!" As he slammed the empty cylinder onto the table in front of him, a diminutive bar-femme scurried fitfully over to him with another cylinder. She placed it on the table in front of him, avoiding eye contact, before hurrying back to the relative safety of the bar. Cyclonus watched her go, barely able to hold his head upright, before knocking back the cheap gritty energon in one go. He barely felt the buzz of power as it hit his already over-energised systems, causing a few more to shut down in protest. Oh, Scourge, he thought. Where'd it all go wrong?
With great difficulty, he lifted his protesting body out of the booth and staggered unsteadily across the dirty bar to the makeshift door that had been welded over the rough opening in the foundations of the building above. As he pushed his way out into one of the city-state's junk-littered lower levels, a couple of Empties scattered down a side alley out of sight. The movement barely registered on his energon-impaired sensors - that or the circuits between them and his brain had shorted from the energon overload - and he staggered away from the bar, tripping clumsily over rusted debris and scrap feeders. Finally, he reached the bottom of a surface shaft between two neighbouring buildings of the upper city and jumped into the air. Transformation systems clicked and whined in protest as he attempted to switch modes. After several centikliks, something popped inside him and in a bizarre amalgam of robot and fighter parts he crashed into the nearest debris heap. For several kliks he struggled to complete his transformation, before the energon overload finally tipped him over into emergency shutdown.
Polyhex City-state, Sector Alpha-010
Cybertronian Date: 999867.92 - 8331 - 2537 (Solar pre-zenith)
Earth date: 20 October 2070, 04:42 HOURS
Cyclonus gradually regained consciousness in a small unfamiliar bay. The beep and hum of computer systems sounded in his audio modules, and as he came fully online he realised that he was lying on a repair table connected up to several medical systems. Moments later, he realised how lousy he felt, and his groan filled the room with mechanical feedback. A few kliks later, a neutral silver-blue face appeared above his head within an unadorned utilitarian white cranial helmet that sat atop red shoulders. A Decepticon insignia adorned his red chest, though the rest of his slender body was primarily white apart from his red lower legs. A helicopter tail rotor was mounted on his right wrist, while fins were mounted on his forearms. The main rotor of his vehicle mode rose from his shoulders to flank his head. "Welcome back to the land of the functional, commander," the mech said pleasantly. "You're lucky to be functional at all judging by how much cheap energon I spent the morning purging from your body."
"Lifeline?" Cyclonus asked, his head still feeling slightly off-balance.
"Yes, commander," replied the Decepticon doctor. "You're in Darkmount. A couple of soldiers brought you to me in the early hours. Apparently they found you in a trash heap." Lifeline shook his head and tutted good-naturedly. "How many times is this now?" he continued. "If I thought it wouldn't impact your recovery I would have reported you to my superiors as per medical protocols. But I'd rather keep your head on your shoulders."
"Don't do me any favours, doctor!" Cyclonus spat sombrely, sitting up and pulling umbilical connections from his body.
"Please, I haven't finished your treatment yet!" the doctor protested, trying to restrain the saboteur ineffectually.
Cyclonus cast him an icy glare that made it perfectly clear that Lifeline was to back off. The white medic did so, lifting his hands in supplication for his patient to calm down, the silver helicopter landing skids under his feet clicking on the floor of the bay as he backed away. "Please, commander, you were in quite a state when you got here," he pleaded. "You were trapped mid-transform with hardly any of your systems functioning efficiently. I had to replace your main transformation cog by retro-engineering the cog from one of your drones! I'm surprised you recovered so fast."
"We Unicronians are particularly resilient, doctor," replied Cyclonus, regaining his composure. "Will the drone recover from the procedure?"
"I'm having a new cog constructed and programmed for him," Lifeline replied. "It may take a while, however. Your Unicronian biomechanics are slightly different to what I'm used to."
"If the resources can't be found," Cyclonus told him, "have the drone scrapped. He might as well serve to create a new life if he is incapable of serving the Decepticons in this one."
"I'm sure that won't be necessary," Lifeline responded hastily, disgusted at the thought of giving up on a patient. "He will be fully recovered in a solar period or two."
"Very well, doctor," spat the purple fighter. "If you must." He climbed off the repair table, feeling his joints grind in protest until fresh lubricant had reached them. His whole body seemed to protest at the movement. How weak I've become! he thought angrily. Perhaps Mega Galvatron is right! We Unicronians are no longer top of the line. We're getting old and obsolete. Maybe it's time for a refit… Considering upgrading to a more worthy form, Cyclonus bade Lifeline goodbye and left the repair bay.
Cybertronian orbit, Polyhex Airspace
Cybertronian Date: 999867.92 - 8331 - 2585 (Solar post-zenith)
Earth date: 20 October 2070, 11:22 HOURS
Decepticon security monitors hung cloaked and inert in cyberstationary orbit over the continent-sized city-state of Polyhex kilometres below. Sensory systems clustered on the extremities of the monitors kept a watchful gaze over the surface below while also monitoring the vacuum beyond the planet's atmosphere for approaching ships and space debris. As well as keeping an alert watch on the Autobot defence network that orbited the planet slightly farther from the surface for activity. An uneasy truce had been maintained by both forces in order to keep Cybertron safe from hostile alien incursion, but both satellite nets were programmed to respond to any attempted attack on the surface by the other. Terminally. For almost four centivorns this fragile equilibrium had been maintained by both sides of the war, and neither satellite net had been put to the test.
The presence of an approaching hyperspace wake alerted both defence nets to an unscheduled warp-capable visitor. Automated systems prepared the satellites for a potential attack and alerted their respective security forces on the surface. Chatter filled the airwaves as data and orders were exchanged and, as on many previous occasions, the two networks switched to standby. On other occasions this was as far as the process had gone, the defensive truce between the Autobots and Decepticons when it came to Cybertron's safety resolving the arrival of forces of one or other of the factions without an exchange of fire. The nets simply maintained their scans of the approach and allowed passage to the surface in the regions controlled by the army in question.
For several kliks, the hyperspace wake cut across the kilocubits into Cybertronian orbit. Hyperspace erupted momentarily across the warp barrier as the new arrivals entered normal space in a burst of photons. The security nets reacted in a flurry of scans, detecting three almost identical aerospace gun-ships in a military arrowhead formation.
The lead craft was mainly dark-grey, with a bulky dark-blue nose module flanked by blue air vents and dark-grey forward-sweeping stabilisers. Heavy black gravitic engine nacelles hung beneath the ship's gull-wings with gold intakes and crested dark-blue exhaust cowlings. Dark-grey tail fins were arranged in a Y around the black tail. Black spikes erupted from the sides of the fuselage under the wings and on the outsides of the engines. A mirrored gold canopy covered a two-man cockpit in the nose. Black cannon ports emerged below the forward vents on either side of the nose, backed up by double-barrelled cannons under each wing and four missile launchers in the belly.
The right-hand gun-ship was dark-green with a black nose module and flanking vents, and a mirrored gold two-man cockpit canopy. The forward-sweeping dark-green bow stabilisers barbed forward at the tips. The black engine nacelles under the gull-wings had silver intakes and exhaust cowlings. The silver tail ended in a dark-green H shaped fin, and the forward cannon ports were silver.
The left-hand craft was a darkened-silver - almost black - with a black nose, forward vents and tail. The forward stabilisers were scythe-like ahead of the spiked intakes of the indigo under-wing gravitic engines, which ended in black exhaust nozzles. Dark-silver tail fins swept up on either side of the tail in a V. The forward cannon ports were indigo and the two-man cockpit canopy was mirrored and gold.
The defence nets detected techno-organic systems beneath their heavily-armoured predatory hulls, moments before the unmarked vessels opened fire and accelerated towards the planet…
The closer Autobot defence net was the first to react, deploying previously concealed heavy lasers and opening fire on the invaders. The gun-ships broke formation and returned fire. Zero-gee explosions blossomed as energy beams, armour-piercing shells and missiles tore through the Autobot defences. Moments later the Decepticon satellites opened fire on the impossibly manoeuvrable gun-ships, which avoided their attacks with as much ease as they had overcome the Autobot defences. More explosions bloomed as the craft cut through the Decepticon line towards the surface. Behind them, the Autobot defences turned to engage them a second time, and kliks later all the Pit broke loose as the primitive target processors of the Decepticon satellites registered the Autobot action as a threat to Polyhex. The sky turned to fire as the two defence nets tore one another apart, leaving the now 'lesser' threat of the gun-ships to penetrate Polyhex's inner defence perimeter.
Surface gun towers and rocket batteries within Polyhex's defences sprung into action, sending a hail of energy blasts and projectiles into the Cybertronian sky to fend off the attackers. The gun-ships banked out of range before resuming their descent, opening fire on the surface with everything in their armaments. Defence positions were reduced to rubble as the three vessels burst through into central Polyhex at impossible speeds and turned onto an attack run on Darkmount itself, avoiding the fire of more defensive weapons as they dropped in among the city's dense buildings. Explosions tore the air around them, ripping into the city's architecture remorselessly in the defenders' attempts to stop the unidentified intruders. Statues of great Decepticon warriors were toppled from the Xystum Legionum Audacium by weapons fire as the gun-ships tore up the broad avenue and into the Grand Forum. Climbing the walls of the Hall of Warriors at the head of the Forum, they passed over the military support centres behind and out over the empty plain that surrounded Darkmount and hid its many ground defences. The fortress's gun towers and missile silos were already active and scanning for targets as they approached, opening fire one after another as the attackers entered firing range. Yet again the immense speed, agility and resilience of the intruders rendered them virtually defunct.
As threat indexes in Darkmount reached their highest level, the automated defences fell silent and, kliks later, swarms of Sweeps lifted from the complex and moved to intercept. The gun-ships slowed as though this was the response they had awaited. As the Sweeps soared into weapons range, squadrons of blue hover-ships and purple fighters bearing down on the now motionless gun-ships, the lead invader activated a long-range communications signal through hyperspace. Kliks later, immense peals of thunder and electronic discharges tore through the Cybertronian sky as warp gates opened all around the Sweeps, sheering the very molecules of the atmosphere with their energies and rocking the sector with gravitational stresses. The hyperspace bridges crackled and writhed like two-dimensional miniature suns for several kliks, before they disgorged a fleet of obviously deadly aircraft into the midst of the Sweeps.
The new arrivals were sleek and deadly hover-ships, their contoured hulls primarily inky black streaked with vicious red markings. On either side of the main hull a silver engine cowling extended forward into curved bow mandibles. A heavy laser cannon emerged above and below each cowling, with twin launchers emerging from the sides of the mandibles. Behind the cowlings, the black tail extended forward-sweeping wing units in an X formation, each tipped by a double-barrelled cannon. Unlike the unidentified gun-ships, the new craft were marked by purple Decepticon insignia on the sides of each engine and between the bow mandibles ahead of a gold cockpit canopy on the upper surface. The Sweeps hesitated as they detected the Decepticon markings of the new hover-ships. As they struggled to make a decision regarding these new ships, they left themselves open to attack. The black hover-ships opened fire, phased missiles, photon beams and X-ray lasers cutting through the Sweeps and sending almost a third plummeting to the ground below before the rest recognised the threat and opened fire.
The dark-grey lead gun-ship took advantage of the distraction afforded by the hover-ship reinforcements to break formation with its comrades, leaving them to direct the slaughter of the Sweeps as it accelerated towards Darkmount. As the fortress's immense walls approached, the craft swooped low to the ground. As the ground came closer, the gun-ship transformed into an armoured techno-organic humanoid, the gold cockpit forming part of his dark-blue chest plate. Cannon ports opened on his black shoulders. His black gauntlets were spiked on the forearms and knuckles. Forward stabilisers rose behind each shoulder, and gull-wings were folded on his back. The tail extended from the back of his black-armoured hips. His black boots were spiked down the outside of the calves, with bladed blue kneecaps and gold armour around his ankles. A black battle helmet covered his black-haired scalp, curved horns on either side and spikes over the ears and running back from the forehead. His eyes were cold and dark in a pale face. For several kliks he continued to fall towards the ground, before his features turned neutral and his entire body split down the middle.
The Pretender shell fell away to reveal the inner Cybertronian. His chest was red with air intakes in the lower edge, an angular red fighter nose module running down to the black nose cone at his pelvis, and a gold cockpit canopy flush with the nose at his abdomen. The sides and back of his abdomen were black above a polished silver pelvis. His upper arms and hands were the same polished silver, with black forearms mounting twin launchers and red shoulder pads that protruded out to either side of his body. His legs were silver with silver-grilled red knee modules and black feet. Black jet exhausts formed his heels and black thruster units were mounted on the outside of his calves. A silver tail fin, edged with red, was mounted on the back of each heel. Silver razor-edged barb-tipped wings, edged with red and black, rose from the back of each shoulder flanking silver gravitic engine nacelles with black exhausts and silver fins. A black cannon rose behind each shoulder on either side of his head. His black face was framed in a black cranial helmet with cheek and chin guards. Silver grilles opened at the front of each audio module and temple, with a red crest running back from his forehead. Scythe-like horns erupted from the sides of his helmet above the audio grilles. His wings were adorned with Decepticon insignia, as was the nose module at his chest.
The Pretender shell reformed and reverted to gun-ship mode behind him as he continued his descent. Subspace systems activated and disgorged a long black dragster-like assault racer below him. The silver forward wing was serrated, razor-edged and tipped by missile launchers ahead of the front wheels on the tapering gold-canopied nose. An exposed silver turbo-engine emerged from the black hull between the canopy and the silver dorsal wing. The engine's lateral red ram-scoop air intakes opened behind the cockpit ahead of the bulky rear wheels, flanked by blasters. A triple-barrelled dorsal turret was mounted at the rear behind the dorsal wing, flanked by silver dorsal fins. Decepticon insignia were branded on its nose and flanks, and the wings and fins were flashed with red. The back of the racer split open, allowing the gun-ship to dock inside, before the inner robot landed inside the racer's cockpit. The engine growled, accelerating the racer towards the outer gates of Darkmount, reaching speeds approaching 600 MPH and weathering everything Polyhex's defences threw at it. The fragment missiles on the forward wing fired, and the racer roared through the torn entrance into the complex.
Polyhex City-state, Sector 010
Cybertronian Date: 999867.92 - 8331 - 2587 (Solar post-zenith)
Earth date: 20 October 2070, 11: 39 HOURS
Decepticons scattered like bowling pins as the black assault racer tore through the trenches that wound maze-like between the towers and silos of Darkmount, weathering the gunfire of the guards and gun towers. The lateral plasma blasters and dorsal null ray turret of the intruder responded to the automated defence systems, while seeming to almost avoid hitting the Decepticons who scrambled out of the vehicle's high-speed path. Even in the tight confines of the trenches it seemed to be able to maintain incredible speed without losing control around the winding twists and turns of the labyrinthine paths. As it skidded, tyres shrieking, around another turn in the trenches, the vast foundations of Darkmount's multi-tower came into view across a vast parade ground at the end of the trench. Across the open hexagonal square the immense main entrance of the central fortress rose high enough to accommodate an Autobot Guardian drone beneath its great gothic arch, the heavily armoured and multiply locked security gates virtually impregnable. A gun tower rose on either side of the gates, and they moved to target the racer as it approached.
As the first tower opened fire, laser beams searing the metal surface of the parade ground, the racer's turret targeted and returned fire. The triple null ray beams surged through the tower, overloading its circuitry and rendering it inert. The turret rotated and fired on the second tower before it had released a shot. The gate defences down, the racer began to accelerate towards the sealed portal, once again reaching top speeds that came near to breaking the sound barrier. As it accelerated, the power of its defensive force-field was hardened and began to cause sparks of friction with the atmosphere enveloping it. Air thundered past the canopy as the pilot braced himself for an impact that would break even Darkmount's gates!
The twin blasts of supercharged particles tore into the surface of the parade ground ahead of the racer, leaving twin overlapping craters smouldering in its path. As the vehicle hit the edge of the crater, the wheels left the ground and it soared over the immense hole where cables, pipelines and subterranean chambers were ripped open. Its speed and streamlining almost allowed it to clear the gap, but the long nose dipped slightly as the far brim approached. Metal shrieked against metal as the nose caught on the crater rim; momentum flipped the racer up and over onto one side, where it skipped over the ground, flipping a few more times before it came to a halt in a shower of sparks and more screeching of metal. Smoke rose out of the smashed engine block and ram-scoop intakes from fires in the damaged internal systems. For several kliks, there was an uneasy silence as the racer lay inverted with its wheels in the air, a trail of sheered fins, wing-tips and parts of other extremities leading back towards the crater edge. Iridescent oils trickled from holes in the hull, sparking with energon released by torn waveguides.
Mega Galvatron landed in robot mode a few decacubits from the shattered assault racer, the particle cannons on his arms still glowing hot and issuing cooling gases from the barrels. Cyclonus landed beside him, his optics centring on the scratched and torn Decepticon insignia on the racer's hull. "A Decepticon," he said evenly, a part of his mind remarking on the lack of emotion he felt at this unknown comrade's treachery when compared to his responses in the past. His mind drifted from the past to Scourge, and he stifled the twinge of grief that threatened to grow there. "Do you think he was the commander of the others?"
"It doesn't matter," the overlord replied coldly. "They will be joining him soon enough, even if I have to wipe them out of the sky personally! And judging by the remarkably useless efforts of your Sweeps…" He trailed off, his optics drifting over the racer's hull. He could sense something so familiar…
"We should attempt to capture them in as close to one piece as possible," said Cyclonus. "Their technology will-"
The movement of the upside-down racer drew both their attentions, silencing Cyclonus mid-sentence. For several kliks, the racer's nose lifted up into the air, revealing the pilot kneeling below the shattered canopy, holding the racer up with one hand. Still holding the racer's nose over his head, he regained his footing with apparently little effort. Dropping his assault vehicle, he looked from Mega Galvatron to Cyclonus with cool yellow optics, a hint of a smile on his lips. His exo-plating gleamed in the sunlight, unblemished despite the damage to his transport, and his wings were flared out proudly from his shoulders. "Good shot," he smiled, his voice silky and smooth as chocolate. "I was beginning to think I'd be in the throne room before someone stopped me."
Mega Galvatron fired one of his cannons directly at the pilot, only for its blast to deflect of an invisible force-field that shimmered momentarily at the impact point. The silver, red and black mech's smile broadened as he shrugged off the impact force. "A blast like that might be enough for your lieutenant there," he chuckled, indicating Cyclonus, "but my defences are somewhat more formidable."
"Who are you?" the overlord snarled.
"Who am I?" replied the mech, his smile broadening into a grin as his optics turned to the smaller Cyclonus, gold with amusement. "Why, I'm the new Decepticon Aerospace Commander."
"We don't need a new one!" Cyclonus warned him, a little of his old self rising up from his melancholy at the challenge.
"And who might you be?" the challenger asked, his tone dripping with condescension.
"Who might I-" The long-missed feeling of rage that flooded Cyclonus' circuits choked off his words. Its presence was welcome to him, and he allowed it to drown out the misery that had plagued him since Scourge's death. Finally, he felt like his old self again! A smile curled his lips below red optics that glowed with power. "I am Cyclonus!" he told the attempted usurper. "Child of the fires of Unicron. The greatest warrior in the Decepticon armies… And who are you to challenge me?"
"I am Death," the mech goaded, chuckling at Cyclonus. "Your death."
Cyclonus laughed at the arrogance of this foolish being. So he had evaded Darkmount's security systems and almost breached the fortress itself. If he thought that was enough to destroy a Spawn of the Great Devourer, he was a bigger fool than he looked! He turned to Mega Galvatron and spoke. "My lord, may I destroy this fool for you?"
Mega Galvatron looked to his lieutenant with only mild interest. "If you wish, Cyclonus," he said, his dark voice almost a wearied sigh. "You may try."
"Try!" the mech laughed mockingly. "Try is all he'll do! It will take more than a lackey to defeat me!" Cyclonus turned on his challenger angrily, his optics narrowed and bleached almost white. He half expected the stranger to shrink back at the vehemence of his sneer, but the mech merely raised a patronising brow strut and smiled cynically. Cyclonus spoke, unable to keep the righteous indignation from his tone. "Very well! I accept your challenge, stranger! Some may mourn your loss!"
"None will mourn yours, Cyclonus!" said the mech, stepping away from the wreck of his assault racer and into the open parade ground. "But they will remember the name of your destroyer for all eternity. I am Starstrike; take that name with you to the Pit!"
"Only one of us will be facing the Pit today, and it won't be me!" Cyclonus responded, lunging at his challenger with his hands curled into talons.
Starstrike somersaulted back out of the saboteur's reach, landing nimbly in a crouch balanced on his toe-plates and the fingertips of one hand. He looked up at Cyclonus with a patronising grin, before launching himself forward at speed and ploughing into the Unicronian. His fist connected with Cyclonus' head, denting the right side of his cranial helmet under the force. He followed through with his second fist, crushing Cyclonus' nasal strut, before vaulting over his opponent's head and landing behind him. His foot connected with Cyclonus' lower back and sent him sprawling forward to the ground.
Starstrike's laugh roused even more of Cyclonus' Unicronian anger as he regained his footing and turned on the silver mech. Secret beam ports opened in his wrists and fired, only to be deflected by the stranger's force-field. Roaring his rage, he again launched himself at Starstrike, and this time ploughed into the other, his hands closing around the usurper's throat. "You will die!" he growled. "Even if it takes every ounce of my strength!"
"Strength?" replied Starstrike with a smile. "This is strength!" With a single hand he tore Cyclonus' grip from his throat and tossed the saboteur aside. He quickly regained his footing and pinned his opponent's head to the floor underfoot. As he slowly increased the pressure, Cyclonus felt his helmet buckle and crack, his audio modules howling and crackling with feedback.
As the force threatened to crush him, Cyclonus reached up and swiped Starstrike's legs out from under him. He stumbled back and only just managed to roll away from Cyclonus' enraged and bloodthirsty lunge at him. The engines on his back and at his heels fired and his roll turned into a steep climb into the air, followed closely by Cyclonus who had shifted to fighter mode. Starstrike smirked, before engaging his own transformation systems and shifting into a silver aerospace fighter, its angular red nose module curved slightly down towards the black nose cone. His razor-edged wings swept back behind the red intakes flanking his nose to their barbed tips. Four silver engine nacelles were inboard of and slightly behind the wings, two dorsal and two ventral, with silver dorsal and lateral tail fins arranged around their black exhaust nozzles. A black dorsal cannon faced forward over his air intakes, and four black launchers opened side-by-side on his belly. As his engines fired, he rocketed up through the air leaving Cyclonus far behind.
As his altimeters indicated the approach of the one kilometre mark, Starstrike lifted his nose and rolled backwards into a vertical dive. He plummeted at unbelievable speeds back towards the sleek purple form of Cyclonus, passing his top speed of Mach 16 under the added influence of Cybertronian gravity. As he neared Cyclonus, he angled his reinforced wings into the path of the purple saboteur, and moments later sheered Cyclonus' port wing from his fuselage. Cyclonus' audible howl was lost in the air rushing past Starstrike's fuselage as the ground approached. He engaged braking systems, dumping speed at an unbelievable rate as the metal parade ground continue to rush up to meet him. At the last possible moment he came to a complete rest with his nose cone mere millicubits from the ground, his fuselage still angled vertically. He reverted to robot mode, casting an appraising optic over the wing he had cut through Cyclonus with for damage, before turning his attention to locating his opponent.
Cyclonus had managed to resume his robot mode, and was kneeling on the parade ground leaking oil and energon from what remained of the torn wing on his shoulder. His red optics shone with fury, but also betrayed a deeper incomprehension at his current predicament. As Starstrike strode across the parade ground towards him, he struggled to his feet and diverted the warnings flooding in from his pain sensors away from his conscious processors. Autonomic systems closed off the severed lines in his wing as best they could and isolated the torn waveguides from his primary energon distribution net as he readied himself for Starstrike's next attack. A tiny voice in the back of his mind told him that he was beaten - a voice that seemed at times to be Scourge and at others to be Skywarp - but he ignored it and summoned his corrosion rifles from subspace. Their weight felt reassuring in his grip as he targeted his opponent. The voice in his head shouted at him to retreat or beg for leniency, but he refused to show weakness: if he was to die, he would die as a Decepticon warrior and a Child of Unicron, not a weak-willed coward!
Starstrike was bearing down on him by now, and as he approached his hands reached to the wing units on his shoulders. As he touched them, they detached from his body and reformed into two razor-edged swords, each barbed at the tip of the blade. Holding them at his sides, the blades turned out and trailing sparks as they were purposefully scraped along the ground, Starstrike quickened his pace and eyed Cyclonus with a triumphant smirk. Cyclonus waited for him to get into point-blank range and fired his corrosion rifles. The first beam refracted off the silver mech's invisible force-field; the second deflected off the broad blade of one of his swords. Before Cyclonus could fire again, a blur of silver-bladed swords had reduced both rifles to mangled wreckage on the ground, only the hand grips remaining in their owner's hands. As he realised the loss of his weapons, he dropped what remained of them and sprung to his feet, pouncing at Starstrike unconcerned by the swords.
Starstrike managed to deflect Cyclonus' lunge without making a mark on his opponent's exo-plating, and side-stepped out of the saboteur's path with remarkable ease, flashing his arrogant grin at the Unicronian. He turned his gold optics momentarily to Mega Galvatron, judging the Supreme Overlord too distant to pick up his whispered words to Cyclonus. "Not so easy this time, is it Cyclonus?" he gloated. "I'm just sorry all the Decepticons aren't here to see your defeat as they witnessed mine!"
"What?" asked Cyclonus, turning to Starstrike in shock. "Who are you?"
"I would have thought it would be obvious to someone of your supposed Unicronian superiority, Cyclonus," Starstrike crowed. "Or perhaps you aren't as clever as you think you are."
"Who are you?" Cyclonus demanded, again lunging ineffectually for his tormentor and again being deflected without Starstrike landing a hit.
"Are these weapons more worthy of your time, Cyclonus?" asked Starstrike, avoiding the saboteur's grasp yet again to leave the purple Decepticon sprawling on the ground at his feet. "Now whose weapons are primitive?" He laughed as Cyclonus rose to his knees. "You've outlived your serviceable life, Cyclonus. Like Scourge, you're irrelevant. Last vorn's model!" His smirk twisted into an even more arrogant sneer. "You're a fruitless aside in the greater Decepticon history. And it's time you were put out of your misery!"
Sunlight glinted on the moving blade of one of his swords as it severed Cyclonus' right arm from his body. Before the limb had hit the ground, the second sword had sliced his remaining arm from its shoulder. Cyclonus saw Starstrike's optics narrow with gleeful satisfaction before his swords flashed one last time.
Cyclonus' head dropped to the ground with a satisfying metallic clang.
Moments later, his body toppled from its knees with a crash. Starstrike pierced the tip of one sword through Cyclonus' back plating between the shoulders, and twisted it around inside, sensing via the tactile sensors within the blade when it found its target. As the blade struck home, he smiled and pulled the sword out with a shriek and howl of tearing metal, trailing sparking energon waveguides, severed circuitry and pipes from the small metallic circuitry cluster that was pierced by the sword's barbed tip. Returning his other sword to the wing mount on his shoulder, he pulled the node from the barb and held it up in his hand. Nutrient oil and coolant trickled down his wrist and forearm from the torn pipes emerging from the cluster, and he could feel the weakening electromagnetic source within through his palm sensors. He returned his second sword to his shoulder and held the small mechanism in both hands, unable to keep the look of haughty jubilation from his face. "Goodbye, Cyclonus," he chuckled darkly. "May the Pit claim your worthless spark." Without another word, he tore the cluster open. There was a brief flash of bright white light before the cluster became dead and inert.
Mega Galvatron looked down as the disembodied head of Cyclonus landed with a crash at his feet. "Here's your champion, Mega Galvatron," said Starstrike, his voice practically a purr. "Cyclonus the Unicronian. He was hardly worth my efforts." Mega Galvatron looked up at the stranger and took in his obvious power. A Decepticon truly worthy of the leadership of a god! He looked into the newcomer's gold optics and felt a brief chill in his spark. Why was this being so familiar to him? He could not be trusted. He was a danger. Mortal instincts cried out for him to beware this being who claimed the title of aerospace commander. If only he could remember where he knew this Starstrike from! He again looked at the other Decepticon, taking in his powerful aura and his inbuilt weapons systems. Yes, he was powerful, but, as with all mortals, he was no threat to Mega Galvatron's power. He would be a useful tool - far more useful than the rest of the pathetic mechanisms who claimed themselves to be Decepticons - but he stood no real chance against the Supreme Overlord of the Decepticon Empire. For him to believe otherwise would be foolish in the extreme. Mega Galvatron smiled calmly. "Very well, Starstrike," he chuckled. "You have proven yourself worthy of command. You shall be Decepticon aerospace commander." He stepped forward, a movement almost faster than Starstrike could detect, and closed clawed fingers around the silver mech's throat. "But remember this: I am Mega Galvatron, Supreme Overlord of all true Decepticons. And I demand complete and total loyalty from those who serve me. I could destroy you in an instant, Starstrike! Never forget that fact!"
"Of course, mighty one," Starstrike replied once the overlord had released him, bowing respectfully. He turned to the outer walls of Darkmount and indicated the sky. "And may I introduce the fleet I have brought to join you, great one?" he asked as the horde of black, red and silver hover-ships soared over the battlements behind Starstrike's gun-ship wing-men. "My two lieutenants, Thundershock and Storm-shadow, and the Neo-Sweeps."
"An impressive force," Mega Galvatron replied. "Finally we have Decepticons worthy of my leadership!" He laughed darkly as the Neo-Sweeps soared overhead in nested arrowhead formations. "With these forces, Starstrike, we will finally destroy all opposition and my Empire will be unstoppable!"
"I live to serve, mighty one," replied Starstrike, his lip curling into a sly smile that Mega Galvatron was too involved in his own glorious dreams to notice.
Deep inside Starstrike's mind, a third voice spoke - deep and resonant, and cold as the void: "Remember your vow, Starstrike! You are mine."
Yes, master! Starstrike responded to the telepathic presence. Cybertron will be yours, Great Devourer. A deeper part of Starstrike's psyche chuckled at the ease with which the weakened Unicron/Oblivion could be fooled, especially this close to the energy of Creation Matrix. Oh, it thought, I'll serve you, Unicron. Until I can manufacture another meeting between you and the Creation Matrix that you fear sooo much!
"You seem deep in thought, Starstrike," Mega Galvatron stated darkly, eyeing him suspiciously. "What is it that you find so necessary to hide from me?"
"Yes, Starstrike," agreed the internal voice of Unicron. "What do you hide from us?"
"I imagine only your great victory, master," he replied to both aloud. "May it be soon." His lips curled into a smile as he looked up at the fleet of Neo-Sweeps that soared over Darkmount. It'll be a Scream! the deeper part of Starstrike's psyche chuckled.
And then all will hail the greatness of Starscream of Vos!